It's not a Question of Sanity
by Tobias Mason Park
Summary: Maybe I was hoping that someone down there—maybe the two blondes, or those six kids who reminded me so much of my friends—would point up at the sight of the hawk circling the hotel, saying, Look, look; Tobias flies free!
1. Chapter 1

**Not a Question of Sanity**

"I don't need a psychiatrist."

"No, of course not."

"Because I'm not crazy, you know."

"I never said you were crazy, Tobias."

"Then what are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to get you to discuss your resentment towards Jake Berenson, but you've completely redirected the course of our discussion to the question of your sanity. Do you think you're crazy, Tobias?"

"Obviously I don't…"

"Would you like to get back to my initial question?"

The secret war between the Animorphs and the Yeerks ended two years ago with victory being claimed by mankind; the Yeerks were utterly defeated, Visser One had been apprehended, and everyone tried, and mostly failed, to get their lives in order. Marco is something of a celebrity now, Cassie is doing what she does best, taking care of animals, Ax is now a Prince on the Andalite home world, and Jake is considered by all to be both a bachelor and war veteran. The war had seen a ridiculous amount of casualties throughout its course, but I think the most tragic of them all was the death of my fellow Animorph and girlfriend, Rachel. And why was Rachel dead? Simply because Jake Berenson, our "fearless and reluctant leader" had chosen her, of every one of the Animorphs—not Marco, Cassie, Ax, me, or even himself— to sacrifice her own life for the good of the planet. For a majority of the duration of the war, I considered Jake to be a rather competent leader, and there was a time when I trusted my life in the hands of Jake Berenson. Now, I think of him as being just as ruthless as Esplin 9466.

War changes people, obviously. After the First World War, the soldiers who returned home from the trenches found that the place they left behind was not the same place they remembered; and most of the time, those soldiers came home blind, maimed and psychologically scarred. But I imagine that the physical pain they sustained from the four or five years of war—the chlorine gas, the gun wounds, the loss of limbs, and the trench foot—was nothing in comparison to the constant presence of death on the front lines; lifeless bodies at every turn—in abandoned trenches and floating faced down in pools of mud and blood—and the dying crying in pain for help. I heard stories of veterans waking up from dreams of shells and gas and flamethrowers, gasping for air and perhaps crying, and never being able to shake off the memory of WW1; the Great War.

The war between man and Yeerk changed me significantly, for the better and the worse. Before I met Elfangor at that construction site I had been an orphan and a loner, and the only friend I had in the world—the only other living thing that I could call family—had been a cat named Dude. I was pushed between a neglectful aunt and an alcoholic uncle, having never felt loved by anyone until an alien looked me in the eyes and said, to paraphrase the Andalite Prince, "Hey kid, you wanna save the world?"

All it took for me to finally make friends, to finally find some sort of family to be a part of, had been a dying alien, whose final act in life had been giving five seemingly average teenagers the power to become animals. And I guess it's a bit strange to think that the invasion of the Yeerks on Earth had changed my life for the better…but it did: I had friends, a girlfriend, and an uncle who actually did care about where I went every night and if I did make it home alive.

But the war changed me in many ways, aside from improving my pathetic excuse for a social life: I went from a social outcast and teenager to a soldier in a war that looked as though it would end in the victory of the alien race known as the Yeerks. But the biggest change in my life was my metamorphosis from human being into hawk; I became a nothlit—having overstayed the two hour limit I had been trapped in the body of a red-tailed hawk; though the experience was not nearly as bad as I initially believed. Eventually, I learned to accept my fate, and soon found that I preferred my life as a bird of prey—one of the larger birds of prey, I should point out.

Everything sort of snowballed after we won the war, and I found that I was now more alone than I had been when the war began; now I didn't have a furry cat at my bedside to keep me company, only an urn containing the ashes of a girl that I loved. I don't associate with any of the remaining Animorphs—not even Ax, who had been the only other person, aside from Rachel, that I had ever had some sort of relationship with. I wrote a book on birds, but that's not much of an accomplishment when you compare my post-war life to Marco, who has milked the role he played in the war to the enth degree. Sure, I could have written an autobiography telling of my trials and tribulations; the trauma that came with the loss of my humanity; my response to the tragedy of Rachel's death; commentary on the war; and my personal history, but I really don't think that my story is worth telling; besides, one could just pick up the dozens of books Marco paid to have written. Instead of writing a book, or becoming an actor, or setting up a Hork-Bajir colony across the freaking globe, I just kept to myself.

But things started to get very bad after a few years…and I found that, even in the body of a red tailed hawk I had sunk into a deep depression. Initially, I decided that I would deal with my depression—Rachel's death and post-war earth—alone, since I've learned to survive on my own at a very young age. But after a while, being alone starts to affect the mind; the silence of it all starts to freak you out, and you just want to scream at times when you can't even sigh. There have been more than a dozen times when I've tried to kill myself, only to back out at the last possible second; and it was only when I nearly succeeded in the attempt that I decided to see some professional help.

I managed to get a hold of a psychiatrist based in New York City, whose reputation and line of work had been known in California; specializing in cases of depression, amongst others. When I set up the appointment with one Doctor M. R. Mackenzie, I assumed that I would be dealing with a man; for some reason, I got the image of Freud in my head when I pictured myself speaking to a high and mighty psychiatrist. But when I finally met Doctor M.R. Mackenzie, I found a gorgeous Pilipino woman dressed in a black suit and holding a pen and notepad handy; sitting cross legged on a leather brown chair placed in front of the ugliest desk I had ever had the misfortune of seeing.

"I am guessing that you are Tobias. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Doctor Madison Mackenzie," she smiled, rising from her seat to shake my hand. "I am aware that you've written a book. I was surprised when I learned that it had nothing to do with the War."

"Yea, well life is full of surprises." I replied, taking a seat on an identical chair across from Doctor Mackenzie.

"You are, I assume, surprised that I am not a man." She asked, smiling at me.

"I have to admit, I didn't think many women chose this line of work…but that's probably just ignorance on my part…I haven't been…active in the world lately."

"The result of the war, I assume?"

"More or less…most likely less, but all the same I guess."

"Yes, well, we will eventually get to that. I want to take advantage of this hour that we have together and get to know who you are. Try to think of this as an introductory session. Tell me about your life, for starters."

I remember leaving that session convinced that psychiatry was a scam, and an overpriced scam at that. I didn't expect to walk into Mackenzie's office and have all of my problems diagnosed and solved in a single hour, but I also didn't expect to spend that hour discussing things that most people could read from the internet. Sure, Madison Mackenzie had been nice enough, and was extremely elegant, but those weren't the qualities that I was looking for in a psychiatrist. What I wanted was a person who would leave all of the pleasantries aside, and tell me _this is what you've got, here's how you can fix it_. Instead I got a beautiful Asian woman in a pricy plaid suit. So after my first meeting with Doctor Mackenzie, apparent PhD in Psychology, I wasn't really friendly.

"I get the feeling that you don't have complete faith in me, Tobias," Mackenzie said during our third session of the month. "Are my methods not to your liking?"

"It's not that at all, Mrs. Mackenzie." I said.

"Tobias, I've told you to call me Madison." She smiled, patting me on the knee. The pat on the knee made me feel uncomfortable in a variety of ways.

"Well…Madison…it has nothing to do with your methods. I just don't particularly believe in psychiatry. I thought it would work for me at first, but I'm not convinced."

"Tobias, we've only had two sessions up until now." Mackenzie laughed. "Rome wasn't built in a day."

"I realize that, doctor." I said. "But I think I can sum up the next few sessions for you. I could tell you about my childhood—how I have been abandoned by my mother as a child, left to an uncaring aunt and uncle, and forced to grown up on my own—and you'll probably diagnosis me as an Oedipus complex, or tell me that I have separation anxiety. You'll probably try to convince me that the relationships that I've had in the past are the result of the lack of love I've had from my mother, and that I try to find that same motherly compassion in the people that I meet.

"Or, you can say that I am the archetypal orphan, if you want to take the Jungian path; tell me that I rely on others to solve my life's problems, and I try to seek love in all the wrong places. And, if I'm not an Oedipus complex, and if I don't fit into what Jung had in mind when talking about archetypes, you'll probably diagnose me as obsessive compulsive, or else try to convince me that I'm suffering from Asperger's syndrome.

"Or maybe you're hoping that we can re-enact the Robin Williams-Matt Damon scene in Good Will Hunting; you'll tell me that it's not my fault over and over and over again until I burst out into tears and finally accept that it really is my fault. But the point is, I don't believe that anything you will say to me will help much. I guess you have to be a certain person for psychiatry to work."

"Tobias, have you ever considered that I just might be another person to talk to?" she asked. "Your impression of psychiatry is limited to television and books, or else things you may have heard from other people on the street. Don't think of me as a doctor charging 150 to 200 dollars an hour three or four days out of the month, think of me as another human being. You've come to me asking for help with your depression, and I'm here to give it to you. I assure you, I am not merely trying to tear apart your essence and fit into neat little categories. I'm here to listen…at a price of a hundred and fifty dollars a session." She smiled.

Needless to say I kept the sessions going, though I was still something of a sceptic and very difficult to talk to. But Madison was very patient, and she was never critical about what I said; she didn't laugh, she didn't judge, and I never got the impression that she had been lying about being another person to talk to, because she meant it. Soon enough, I started to talk to Madison about Rachel, my time spent as a hawk, my relationship with Ax, Loren, my issues with Jake, and just about everything else that I've kept bottled up for the last five or six years; hell, I think I've mentioned Visser One, Erek King, and David a few times as well.

"Would you like to get back to my initial question?" Madison asked.

"Sorry?"

"Would you like to get back to my initial question—do you hate Jake Berenson?" she repeated, patiently.

I thought about the question for a moment, looking away from the understanding and sympathetic Asian woman who sat in the leather bound chair across from me. I looked around the office of Doctor Madison R. Mackenzie, staring at the numerous awards and doctorate certificates that hung from the rust-red coloured walls, thinking on the question,

Do I hate Jake Berenson?


	2. Chapter 2

**It's not a question of how, but why?**

"I had a strange thought the other day." I said to Doctor Mackenzie on the day of our fifth session of the month. "I was wondering what would happen if the Animorphs had their own television show. I mean, I realize that it is completely irrelevant to what we've been discussing over these last few sessions…but I can't put it away from my mind."

"What brought about these thoughts?" Madison asked, looking up from her notepad as she sat at her usual seat on the brown leather chair across from where I was sitting. "Where you thinking about the war, or was it a person in particular?"

I knew who Madison meant by _person in particular_, she still wanted to know if I hated Jake Berenson. I had a feeling that bringing up Jake at our first session would probably result in constant questioning about my relationship with Jake and Rachel, and I now regret bringing up Jake in the first place. Madison tries to take a subtle approach and ease her way into a conversation about the former leader of the Animorphs, and most of the time she does so by bringing up Rachel, who I have only mentioned once or twice—albeit accidentally— during our little meetings. I realize that discussing Jake with Madison, of all people I know in the world, will most likely help ease the pain I've been feeling over the last few years, but for some reason I can't seem to bring myself to talk about him. So, whenever Madison tries to bring up Jake, in that oh so subtle way of hers, I just switch the topic to something else.

"No…I don't think it was a person, really." I said, thinking back to the day I had thought about the idea of an Animorphs television series. "I don't know what brought it up, really. I was flying around the city, and I saw some kids fooling around, flapping their arms as though they were wings and making odd noises that reminded me of birds, or Dracon Beam fire…maybe it was the way they were flapping their arms that did it."

"How would you feel if you had your life—your part in the war, your new life as a hawk—turned into a television series?" Madison asked, writing down what I had just said.

"Sounds like it could be interesting…if they did it right, that is." I said, thinking about the idea some more. "For some reason, I can't see a casting director hiring an ordinary actor to play Visser One…and the show would probably get picked up by a kids network…the whole thing would get played down so children could understand it."

"Who do you think they would get to play you?"

"Probably a local unknown," I answered. "They'd probably hire someone who was a half decent actor, but never really had what it takes to make it on the big screen."

"Who do you think they'd get to play Jake?" Madison asked, looking at me from behind her notepad.

There she goes again; bringing up Jake in that really clever and subtle way that bothered and humoured me. I had the sudden urge to roll my eyes, but I thought such a thing would be impolite; especially when the woman was only trying to help. I decided that perhaps it would be best if I discussed Jake…just the once; just so Madison would feel like she was doing her job.

"I don't know...probably someone with a more credibility; someone who has already been on some shows and a few television films…when I think of Jake on T.V I think of a clean cut, all American; the sort of person who has everything going for him."

"Is that what he was like as a teenager?" Madison asked. "Did he strike you then as the clean cut American type when you first met him?"

"I don't know what I thought about Jake when I first met him…I sort of had my head in the toilet at the time…"

Madison looked at me with her eyebrow raised, as though I had said something in gallard. "I wasn't the most popular kid back in high school…or even in elementary school for that matter." I added, shrugging as though such things never bothered me. "Every once in a while some jocks would give me some trouble…little things like throwing me into a locker, or giving me a swirly were some of their favourites…personally, I never understood why they did that."

"Jake saved you?" she asked.

"One could call it saving…sure." I shrugged. "Jake was a good guy then…he saw that someone was taking a joke too far, and noticed that nobody else was doing anything to stop them, and decided that he should do something about it…he was like Clark Kent…he wouldn't become superman for another week or so."

"That was when you met Elfangor?" she asked.

"After Jake got my head out of the toilet, I developed a sort of…hero worship would be the best way to describe it. I would sit next to him in the cafeteria, and I would walk by him down the halls…but I knew I didn't fit in with his sort…I knew he didn't really want me around. Really, the guy just felt sorry for me."

"What made you go with him to the construction site that night?" Madison asked. "From what you've told me, and from what I've read in Marco's autobiography, you didn't have much of a relationship with the others; you knew Marco was Jake's best friend, you were aware of the fact that Jake and Rachel were cousins, so what made you go?"

"Why do you think I went?" I asked.

"I have an idea of why you went." She said.

"And that idea is…"

"You tell me, Tobias." She smiled.

"It might have had something to do with Rachel…I don't know."

"Rachel…Jake's cousin." Madison said.

"Yes…Rachel." I repeated. "We've discussed her once or twice, I think."

"Yes, we have…briefly." Madison agreed. "We've discussed her relationship with Jake Berenson, and her death, but not much else."

"So why do you think I went?" I asked.

"You already said it a minute ago." She said. "You formed a hero worship for Jake Berenson after he helped you with your bully problem."

"You think I went for Jake?" I said incredulously.

"Yes, I do." She nodded. "I really do. I think you saw things in Jake that you couldn't see in yourself, and that's what drew you to Jake; those qualities associated with leaders and heroes, qualities that you lacked at the time. Maybe you felt as though some of those qualities would rub off on you if you spent more time with Jake."

"I really don't think that was why I went…" I said.

"You are almost positive that Rachel was the reason for going?"

"Well…yea…" I said, lamely. "It was either Rachel, or something else…fate, maybe."

"Do you believe in destiny?" Madison asked. She sounded sage-like as she asked the question, giving me the impression of a female Gandalf.

"Well it seems rather strange the way everything happened." I replied. "Elfangor comes to Earth after some odd years and stumbles upon his own son, and gives five kids the power to morph. Then, a few weeks later, we meet the brother of the same alien who turned out to be my biological father…it all seems too weird."

"So it would make sense that Jake would save you from your tormentors that day." Madison insisted. "Wouldn't you say that that moment had been a significant part of fate's design?"

"Sure…why not." I shrugged. "I just doubt that my reasons for going were influenced by Jake's charity towards me."

"If you want to feel that way, then that's fine too."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, defensively.

"It doesn't have to mean anything, Tobias." Madison smiled. "Not if you don't want it to. For all we know, the whole thing may have been a coincidence. Personally, I don't think so; I think Jake was a significant factor in your decision. You may say that fate had intended for the five of you to meet that day, and that's fine too. I don't think that there's a right or wrong answer."

"Rachel may have had something to do with it…" I mumbled.

"Yes… Rachel…Jakes cousin." She said for a third time.

"Why do you keep saying it like that?" I asked. "Rachel…Jake's cousin—what do you mean by that?"

"We're nearly out of time, unfortunately." Madison sighed. "I will see you next week."

I nodded and left the office of Doctor Madison R. Mackenzie, feeling slightly put off by what we had discussed in that short hour; she seemed to have been hinting at something, something that might have flown over my head. I tried to think of something else—the Animorphs television series idea that started the whole conversation in the first place—but I kept hearing Doctor Madison's voice in my head, saying the same few words all the time, _Rachel…Jake's cousin…_what did that mean? Yes, Rachel was Jake's cousin; I obviously knew that, in fact, that was how I described Rachel when I brought her up, unintentionally, to Madison a few weeks ago. And she seems confident that I agreed to go to the construction site out of some need of impressing Jake…at least, that's what I think she meant.

I left the building and took a breath of New York City air. I demorphed into my red-tailed hawk body and took flight, no longer worrying about whether or not a controller had been around the corner. That was the upside of living on post-war Earth; I could morph and demorph at will. Though, I haven't done much morphing since the war ended a few years ago; and I only ever morphed into my human form, and that was limited to the days when I needed to speak to Madison for our weekly sessions.

Flying was still my favourite thing to do nowadays, that much stayed the same; but there was always something that troubled me and that always put a damper on the whole experience. Most of the time, I would think of Rachel and the numerous times that we flew around California together; Rachel in her bald eagle morph, while I flew in my normal form. But it wasn't Rachel I had been thinking about as I rode the thermals above New York City, it had been Jake; but unlike any of the other times I had thought of Jake—cursing the day I ever met him, and thinking about murdering him in his sleep—I was thinking about the day we first met.

I forced myself to think of Rachel, and tried to forget that her cousin ever existed. I thought about all of those dates that Rachel planned for us while the war was still going on; flying over the city in the bodies of the largest birds of prey; eating Taco Bell and sipping coke from a straw in the food court while she looked at me; and the picnics that we had in my old meadow.

Thoughts of Jake pulling my head out of a toilet after forcing the bullies—who had been much larger than Jake at the time—to back off; thoughts of Jake looking at each of us the night Elfangor crashed his ship into the construction site; visiting Jake's house the day after that and telling him about my first morphing experience; visiting Jake the night I had overstayed the two-hour limit and became a nothlit; and every single night that we fought the Yeerks, side by side, never knowing if we would make it out to live another day.

I suddenly knew what Madison had been getting at in her office, and I did not like it. In fact, I had been so upset by what she said that I landed in an alleyway, morphed into my human form, and took all of my anger out on a dumpster with a rusted pole.


	3. Chapter 3

**Better than Flying**

"I've been having some odd dreams lately." I admitted, avoiding the eyes of Madison Mackenzie. It must have been our sixth or seventh session together—I've gotten so comfortable with the woman that I've lost count by that point. Normally, I feel comfortable with Dr. Madison, and I don't think I've ever held back when it came to speaking of my personal life; but for the past three or four days, I've been having strange dreams, all of them involving the same subject matter, the same people, and all ordered in the same sequence of bizarre events.

"What happens in these dreams?" Madison asked.

"It's the same dream all the time." I muttered. I couldn't bring myself to look into her eyes; the dream had been that embarrassing. "It always starts off innocent enough, but then…" I trailed off and looked out the window to the office.

"There aren't any boundaries between the two of us, Tobias." Madison said. "Nothing leaves this room. You may as well tell me."

"Well…at the beginning…" I said, nervously, clearing my throat. "I'm flying over a forest…but it's not me…not really."

"Elaborate on that, if you don't mind."

"Well…it's not like in most of my dreams, where everything is in a first person perspective…usually I'm a hawk in my dreams…but this time it was like I was…I can't explain it…like I was looking down on the Hawk…or up at it…I'm not sure." I sighed.

"So you aren't the Hawk." She said.

"I guess not…but it feels like I should be…I mean, it would make sense wouldn't it?"

"So what is this hawk doing in the dream?" Madison asked, looking up from her notepad.

"He's just flying around." I said. "He flies around in circles above a forest I have never seen before…one that is far too beautiful to ever be found on Earth: the trees are green…but a lively green; a shade of green that I have never seen on trees before…it seemed almost…alien to me…

"The sky was an odd colour as well." I continued. "I mean…it was blue…but it was like the trees; a shade darker, or a shake lighter than what one expect of the sky…it's weird…I can't really explain…"

"What about the Hawk?" she asked.

"The Hawk just flies around…like it doesn't know what to do next." I answered. "But it feels like it's flying like that—in circles, I mean—for hours…but when it finally does stop flying—once it changes its course and flies off into the horizon—it disappears…and I never see the hawk again for the duration of the dream…"

"Do you think that the hawk could be Rachel?" Madison asked.

"I doubt that very much." I said. "I was the only one in the group who acquired the red-tailed hawk as a morph…Rachel's was a bald eagle."

"Have you dreamt of Rachel recently…or any other of your team mates?"

"Actually, I haven't dreamt of any of my friends in a long while." I admitted. "The last time had been about a year ago…that wasn't too strange a dream: I relived the final battle of the war, and everyone had been there."

"And by everyone, whom do you refer?"

"I mean _everyone_." I replied. "The Animorphs, Jake's brother—he was a controller—Visser One—Marco's mother and Esplin 9466— David, the Animorph who betrayed us a few years before then, my mother Loren, and Elfangor." I left out the Ellimist, Crayak and the Drode. I wasn't sure if I was liable to mention the latter beings, and I was certain that, to explain the origins of the Ellimist or Crayak would have taken a great deal of time. "But the battle didn't end the same way…Rachel still died…but every last one of the Animorphs had been killed as well…except David…"

"Just out of curiosity," Madison said, coughing slightly, "Do you know what became of David?"

"I've heard some things about David taking Rachel hostage, but I'm not sure of what went down exactly…I'm pretty sure David's dead by now; rats only live three years…unless he got eaten by an owl or something."

"Would you like to get back to your recent dream?"

"Sure…" I nodded. "Well…once the hawk flies off into the horizon, the location of the dream changes…I'm sitting in my old room back at my uncle's house…only I don't have a body…I'm sort of…there…" I trailed off once again to gather my thoughts. "I have all my senses…and technically I can move around…but I can't see myself in the mirror…"

"May I ask you a question?" Madison asked. I nodded. "Do you like being human?"

"I'm not sure of how I'm supposed to answer that…" I replied.

"Are you comfortable right now, being in your human body?"

"I'm not having a panic attack, if that's what you mean."

"That isn't what I meant…but that's good to hear." Madison smiled. "When you're in your hawk body, how do you feel?"

"Normally…I feel…right…like I belong…"

"And how about now?"

"It feels different…" I said quietly. "When I was a kid, I had a feeling that I was…different, like I didn't fit in…and even when I was with the Animorphs, I didn't feel as though I belonged with my human friends…Rachel is an exception, and Ax wasn't human…"

"Maybe that's why you don't see your image in the dream." Madison suggested. "You may not consider yourself human, and perhaps you haven't thought of yourself that way in a long time."

"I can't deny that I am human, though." I said. "Sure, I could spend the rest of my days as a hawk, but I'm still human. Even with other hawks…I still get that sense that I don't belong…"

"Have you ever thought of going back to your other life?" she asked. "Have you ever had those moments where you wanted to over stay the time limit again?"

"Honestly, I haven't." I admitted. "Each day in my own skin was like a mission; every second I lay awake was an attempt at surviving life, not living life."

"Did Rachel ever try to make you switch back?"

"Many times, but I refused."

"And why is that?"

"I told her that I wanted to stay in the fight…becoming a nothlit meant that I wouldn't be able to help my team…"

"But…."

"But I just never had much interest in going back…" I said. "I loved her, and I would have done anything for her…but I couldn't go back."

"Is there anything else to this dream?" she asked.

"Yes…but it's embarrassing." I could feel myself blushing as Madison looked at me. I turned my attention to the window.

"Am I in the dream?" Madison asked.

"Nope." I said, honestly. "It has nothing to do with you…or Rachel, or J…anyone else…I think it's about me."

"Is it a sexual dream?" she smiled a bit as she said it.

"Not really…" I said. "I'm not having sex with anyone…but…" I sighed before continuing. There wasn't much time left in the session, and I knew Madison was a very busy person, and knowing Madison—having attended six or seven sessions with her—she would not rest until I have told her everything.

"The location of the dream changes again." I began. "I'm in another room…but I can't place this one…the walls are blue, but there's nothing else in the room; not furniture, no windows, no posters…just a full body mirror in the center…and I'm standing in front of the mirror…and I can see my reflection…"

"Who do you see?"

"A woman…"

"Is that woman Rachel?"

"No…"

"Is it Loren, your mother?"

"No, it's not Loren."

"Have you had a relationship with any other woman in your past?"

"Just one…a girl named Taylor…she was a controller, and she tortured me…she made me relive some of the most painful moments of my life, and even the pleasant memories—the few that I have—were painful; I laughed, cried, and screamed until I wanted to die…I know it was Taylor that I saw in the mirror…I just don't know why…"

"Alright, you're looking into this mirror, and Taylor's reflection is looking back at you…have you been thinking about this girl recently?"

"Not at all," I replied. "I haven't in years…though, the memories of my torture are still fresh…I haven't been thinking about her…"

"Is there something that you're leaving out about Taylor?"

"Yes…" I said, blushing. "I…I acquired her DNA, when we met for a second time."

"Have you ever morphed into Taylor?"

"Only once, and that had been in front of the real Taylor." I replied.

"When did you start having these dreams?" Madison asked.

"They started about two weeks ago…on Thursday, I think."

"After our last session." Madison said, counting the days back. "After we had discussed Jake."

"I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong." I said, somewhat defensively.

"What am I thinking?"

"You know…" I said, lamely. "You're trying to tell me that…that I might be interested in Jake."

"Well, are you?"

"Of course I don't!" I cried. "I'm not gay."

"I never said you were, Tobias."

"Be honest…you were implying it."

"Would it be so bad if you were, though?" Madison asked. "People view homosexuality as something to be ashamed of, something taboo. Society has given the definition of the ideal man…and the ideal woman; and that is Caucasian, straight, muscle-bound men, or the chesty and slender blonde woman. Tobias, very little of the population fits into this mould.

"You are familiar with Hitler and the Holocaust?" she asked. I nodded, wordlessly in response. "Of course you are. I don't need to tell you about the Aryan race. But you can see what I'm talking about, correct?"

"Yes, I get what you're saying." I said. "But I'm not Caucasian, or black, or brown; I'm not a man or a woman; I'm not sure that I can be straight or gay…not really. I'm a hawk."

"You're a human, Tobias." Madison argued. "You said yourself that you cannot deny that much."

"Yes…but I also said that I never thought myself to belong in my human body…"

"Why are you so afraid of your own humanity?" she asked. At that moment, the way her voice changed from calm and professional to that of someone who was genuinely concerned for my wellbeing, I stopped thinking of Madison as my psychiatrist and started to see her as a friend.

"I'm not afraid…I'm ashamed." I said. "And I have every reason to be."

"And that reason is?"

"Look at what man has done: two world wars, the genocide of an entire group of people, the Crusades, the Crucifixion of Christ, the Islamic Wars, murder, pillaging, total destruction…and all of this happened long before the Yeerks arrived…the human race has been fucked from the beginning…I no longer want to be a part of it."

"You are correct, there have been…incidences where humans have done some questionable things…but think about all the good we've done as well; our advances in technology, the Red Cross…think of humanitarians, and all of the work they've done…think of the missionaries, who visited other countries to better the lives of the poor…think of St. Francis of Assisi, who gave up his worldly possessions and lay with the poor…think of Jesus Christ himself…

"You say that you no longer see yourself as a human, for reasons that I can, for the most part, understand…and I can never understand the pain that you've been through—abandonment, the loss of a loved one, the discovery of your origins…you've obviously been through a lot…and I acknowledge that…

"When I was ten, my older sister was diagnosed with a rare blood disorder, and for the next few years she struggled to cling onto life; every day for Eleanor had been painful, and there were many days where she just lay on her bed for hours and hours…and when she finally did die, I thought that my world was over…that things couldn't possibly get any worse.

"Things did get worse, Tobias, and that's just the way life is." Madison said, sadly. "My grandmother was tragically killed in a car accident, my aunt died sometime after my grandmother, and I've lost a pet or two…sure, it may not nearly be as tragic as, say for example, the ten year old in Africa, currently battling starvation and aids, but misery is misery, no matter what form it takes.

"What I'm trying to get at, is that life is unfair." She said, smiling a bit. "It's an obvious and cruel fact, but nobody can deny it. If you know anything about Buddhism, then you would know of the life of Siddhartha Gautama—better known as the Buddha. Siddhartha was raised as a young prince, and his father did not want his boy to be exposed to the suffering of others…so he kept his son in the castle.

"One day, during a parade honouring the young prince, Siddhartha asked a servant to show him around the village outside the castle walls; and behind those walls, Siddhartha had seen poverty, sickness, and death—things that had been, up until then, completely foreign to him. The point of this story, Tobias, is that, no matter how many times we hide, we cannot escape the reality of suffering. It exists, and no castle wall of stone, or wings of feather, can change that fact.

"The Buddhists also believe that the current world we live in is a hallucination; that happiness is fleeting, and we can only reach enlightenment once we accept the fact that there is suffering in the world, as well as the impermanence of the world. The things that many of us believe to be most precious—our possessions, our homes, or family, and even our physical forms—are impermanent, and will disappear.

"But, in my opinion, the most interesting of all Buddhist thought would be notion of reincarnation, that we are trapped in a never-ending cycle of birth, death and rebirth; we are constantly being born into a different body—human, animal or insect, based on ones karma—at each birth. So why should we worry about our physical appearance if it's impermanent?"

"I'm not a Buddhist." I said. "I'm not much of anything…really."

"Does it matter what religious sect you're devoted to?" she asked. "You're an Animorph, Tobias; you have been changing into different animals and humans for years up until now, you should know, more than any other person on Earth that the physical doesn't matter; it no longer applies to you."

"I guess I see your point…" I muttered.

"Then what does it matter if you are gay or straight?" she demanded. "Why should you be concerned if you're dreaming about becoming a woman?" Madison shook her head at me, as though she was disappointed. "Do you understand the gift Elfangor has given you? I mean, sure, morphing was only an option for you and your friends when you needed to save the planet…but the war is over now, and you still have this incredible gift…a power that few people are given, even today…why not take advantage of it?

"If it helps, I've constantly wondered about what it was like to be a man." Madison laughed. "When I was fifteen, I went through a phase where I thought about women from time to time…and sure, I've _experimented_ during my college years…but I see it as a part of growing older, and not something to be ashamed of…maybe you feel this way because you've missed out on the things most children your age experienced: sex, drugs…"

"…rock 'n' roll?" I interrupted.

"Will you listen?" She snapped. "I may not get the same opportunities that you've been given. You may have missed out on a lot as well. But you've had an experience that only four other humans could relate to. You've seen things that people like me can only dream about. And you have a gift that others would trade an entire arm for…so why not use it?

"So what are you suggesting I do?" I asked.

"Try spending some time in Taylor's body." She said. "Or, if you're still uncomfortable with that aspect of your sexuality, you could spend more time in your human body instead of morphing for these sessions, you could try going out as the human Tobias…take a trip to the mall…visit Cassie or Marco…write a book…see a movie…take up some sort of hobby.

"I'm sorry to say, but we're out of time…I look forward to seeing you next week. Hopefully, we'll have made a break through.

I did take Madison's words to heart.

That night I paid for a room at a hotel in the city—a block away from Madison's office building—and I morphed into Taylor. If only I could describe what I felt that night…I don't really have much to compare it to…but I can safely say that it was better than flying…


	4. Chapter 4

**A Night Out on the Town…**

I was somewhat…uncomfortable, sitting there in the food court of a crowded mall; and yet, it still felt all too familiar to me. I was sitting by the windows, since it gave me a nice view of the sky. I thought that sitting by the window would make me feel at home with myself, as I sat there amongst other humans, in my human body. Two weeks ago, Madison suggested that I spend more time as a human, as an attempt to help bring me back to reality, and maybe convince me that I am, in fact, a human; despite the voices in my head that tell me otherwise. I mean, for the last five or six years I have succumbed to this belief that I was a red-tailed hawk, and I had no problem forgetting about that life I had left behind; a life of lies, murder, and parasites. But Madison seemed to think that it would work, so I gave it a shot.

I rented a room at a hotel a few blocks away from Madison Mackenzie's office building, not entirely certain of what I was about to do. When I walked up to the concierge's desk—shaking a bit as I walked, since I wasn't used to walking on two legs—I had to resist the urge to turn back, demorph into my _real _body, and fly back to my meadow. Even as I spoke I felt like I didn't belong. Not like anyone could really blame me; I've been sleeping in trees for as long as I can remember. And yet there I was, standing just over 6'0 in height, wearing the only pair of clothes that I owned—a pair of jeans and a top that I would wear for my sessions with Madison— about to request a room for the night.

"Alright…Mr. Fangor…is that how you pronounce it, Fang-or?" the concierge looked up at me, smiling kindly. I nodded in response, but said nothing. To be quite honest, I haven't gotten used to things like facial expressions, or using my mouth to speak rather than thought speak…again, you can't really blame me.

"Here's your room key," the concierge—Emily, according to her name tag—handed me the room key, still smiling kindly up at me. "I hope you enjoy your stay."

I walked away without thanking Emily, but that was just something I was used to by now; subtleties like "thank you" and "hello" weren't a specialty of mine. I never really felt the need to speak unless I was spoken to, and even then that was a rarity. I learned at an early age that few people acknowledge the new, awkward kid at school, and any time I tried to be friendly towards another person my age it was followed by a swirly or the cold shoulder. My time with the Animorphs helped me learn to connect with others, but that connection was affected tremendously after Rachel died. Emily may have thought that something like that was rude, but it's just the way I am. It's the way I've learned to live.

The room was actually pretty decent, and rather spacious. I've never been to a hotel room before, but I was rather impressed. It was located on the sixth floor, and there was a nice view of the city. As a hawk living in the meadow, I've never really learned to appreciate the pure beauty of the city at night; the lights from the many clubs and restaurants were simply dazzling, though I could have done without the constant noise. There was a bed large enough for a few people—though I was confident that there would only be one body sleeping on that mattress that night—with a few pillows—most of which were decorative— and a beautiful beige comforter.

Across from the bed was a handsome, and no doubt empty, armoire that dominated the room. To be honest, I could have lived without the presence of the armoire, it seemed to throw off the overall décor of the room; not that I was much of an expert. A lot of the furniture matched the colour of the armoire, but I thought that they were mostly used for decorative use than anything; the bench placed at the foot of the bed, the bed side table and the various lamps and mirrors placed around the room just seemed to take up space. It had nothing to do with the way the furniture had been placed or how it looked to me that felt off putting, it was really another one of those…hawk things; being a hawk most of the time, I had no use for things like lamps, mirrors and armoires.

When the sun started to set, I decided to head out and pick up some dinner. For me, going out to pick up dinner literally meant _picking up _dinner. I would fly around the meadow before the owls came out to hunt, and I would keep an eye out for any voles, shrews, mice or rats that might be scampering off to their holes and hideaways. I was top-dog in the meadow, the big-man on campus, so to speak. I rarely had to worry about somebody sneaking up from behind me or shoving my head into a toilet. And as long as I kept to my territory, I didn't have to worry about larger hawks or owls taking me down mid-flight. Most nights I was guaranteed to find a decent sized rodent to eat, but there have been a few nights when food was scarce.

I decided that it would be best for me to go out for dinner in my human body that night, like Madison suggested. I didn't have to worry about people recognizing me, since I've been away from the public eye for more than three years. Unlike Jake, Cassie and Marco, I never had to worry about the threat of paparazzi, and I didn't have thousands and thousands of fans to hassle me with their questions about when my next movie was coming out. As far as the world was concerned, Tobias the Animorph was dead. After all, hawks don't live nearly as long as humans.

I stayed away from the flashy five star restaurants, since I was almost flat out broke. The money I used to pay for the hotel wasn't acquired in the conventional way, and I only had enough to pay for a burger. Not that I was a picky eater. To be honest, a burger and a large Pepsi were far more appealing than seafood linguini or a large steak. A guy who spent a majority of his human life completely ignored by his "guardians" wasn't used to what most people considered to be _fine dining_. I'm a simple guy. Give me a burger, a shake…hell, even an above-average sized mouse, and I'm one happy camper.

The noise is what threw me off when I entered the mall, just a few blocks away from the hotel. And because this mall was located in a large city, it wouldn't close until eight o'clock at night, at least. I've spent years in obscurity, so the chitter chatter of passers-by wasn't exactly something I was accustomed to. I saw a lot of business men and retail buffs walking into and out of stores; probably some sears workers scoping out the competition. There were a lot of families shopping as well, but that didn't bother me; not anymore. I've gotten to a point in my life where it was futile to continue wishing that a family would somehow materialize out of thin air; I was no longer envious of little children receiving hugs from their parents.

But what really stopped me in my tracks was the teenagers. There were hundreds of them all around me, talking and laughing. And there were plenty more of them hanging around the food court. Teenagers working at places like Burger King and Taco Bell, teenagers sitting at every other table in sight. I wasn't that much older than a lot of the kids at the mall, but I still felt distant from them. I guess old habits die hard.

I stood in line in front of the Taco Bell, behind a couple of blonde girls, both of whom looked to be about thirteen. There were at least three other people, a large black woman and two white guys, standing in front of them, and they did not look as though they were together; meaning that I would be waiting for a while. It didn't help much that the thirteen year old girls were loud and…well, typical thirteen year old girls. I'm not one for eavesdropping, but their shrill voices made it difficult to tune out.

"…I swear to God, he said that he liked you!"

"Come on, Jenn." The other blonde girl said. "You cannot be serious."

"I swear to God!" the second blonde squealed. "I heard it from Billy, who heard it from Jake, who said Mark liked you."

Did she just say Marco, or Mark?

"Are you serious?" the girl named Jenn asked. "Sara, you'd better not be lying to me…"

"Excuse me," I said, suddenly. "The line's moving."

The two blondes turned around to face me and gave me one of those cold, scathing looks that reminded me a lot of the girls from my freshman year of high school. I thought that I recognized one of them…but I couldn't place her face.

"You look familiar," one of the blondes said to me. I couldn't tell if she was Sara or Jenn, but she seemed to recognize me. "Do I know you?"

"I doubt it." I mumbled. "I'm just another guy looking for something to eat. Are you two planning on moving any time soon?"

"No need to be rude," the shorter of the two said.

The girls placed their orders, but they didn't seem to be finished with me just yet.

"I am totally sure that we know each other." The taller blonde said, moving to the side and waiting for her meal.

"I'm not sure I know many thirteen year old girls." I mumbled. "Besides, I'm not from around here."

"Sir would you like to order something?" the European looking woman at the cashier asked.

"Um…sure…" I stammered. "I'll take the number six."

"Number six." She said, speaking into the small microphone in front of her. "Would you like a combo with that?"

"I am sure that I've seen you somewhere…" the blonde girl said. "In a picture…I'm almost 100% sure!"

"No combo…" I said, nervously. I practically threw a ten dollar bill at the woman before moving to the side to claim my order; all the while avoiding the eyes of the tall blonde girl with the blue eyes.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"I think your order is ready, little girl." I muttered, nodding towards the tray of food waiting on the counter. Reluctantly, the blondes picked up their food and walked away, very slowly. I was starting to get a bit nervous, thinking that she'd remember how she knew me. And once I got my number six, I made sure that I picked a table that was far, far away from the two girls.

I had barely touched my food, and I was tired of looking at the blackening sky. There's only so much of the night's sky that a guy can take. Some people would say that the sight of the stars in the sky is to die for, but I disagree; especially when the city lights block out most of the stars. Nothing beats the sight of the sky during the day.

I turned my head to see a group of six teenagers, and I suddenly found myself feeling very lonely. There were two girls, and four guys; all laughing, joking, and eating their burgers and salads. I found myself staring, in what could only be defined as awe, at the sight of them. They reminded me suspiciously of my friends and I, when we were teenagers. They looked almost identical to the Animorphs: a strong-looking, leader like Jake; a white girl, with a kind face that reminded me very much of Cassie; the cocky comedian that Marco would have been proud of; two guys who looked as though they had no business sitting with the rest of the group; and, of course, the gorgeous blonde…

Unable to stare at those kids any longer, I left my table and my number six taco and walked the lonely walk back to my hotel. Besides, it was time for me to demorph anyway. Somewhere on the way to my hotel, I decided that it would be a lot more productive for me to fly. And while there was no reason for me to demorph in an alley—what with the Yeerk war being over, and Andalites visiting Earth every once in a while—it felt almost natural that I morph in a place where nobody could see me. My clothes would be left behind a dumpster, but that wasn't really much of a concern for me. After all, hawks don't need clothing.

The changes were not unfamiliar to me. In fact, morphing was just another part of life for me by now. But that didn't make the process any more pleasant. To this day, I still have no idea of how to control the morphing process, and I doubt that I would ever make it look nearly as attractive as Cassie did, back in the day. There's something about the sound of your own bones crushing, your organs rearranging and feathers appearing where flesh once was that makes you cringe at the very sight of your body. But once the morphing stops, and you're inside a body that is so very different from your own…well, that's where the fun starts.

I took off from my place in the dumpster, finally at home with myself; back in the element I was destined for. The thermals were weak; not nearly as powerful as they would be during the day. And yet, I was content with what I had. I flew around the hotel a dozen times, screeching like the hawk I was. Occasionally, I would look down at the bright city beneath me, wondering if anyone had heard me. Maybe I was hoping that someone down there—maybe the two blondes, or those six kids who reminded me so much of my friends—would point up at the sight of the hawk circling the hotel, saying, _Look, look; Tobias flies free! _But nobody did. And really, who could blame them?


End file.
